The Elsewhere Chronicles
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: AU. It may be just a college paper to Leon, but it will become the story of his life, as well as its involvement in others'. Their relationship is as unorthodox as they come, but what they have is still very real. LxC, SxC, AxL.
1. Prologue

The Elsewhere Chronicles

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Kingdom Hearts. If any person on FF-Net should own Kingdom Hearts, it's Uzumaki-sama, and I am not her. But anyway, this fanfic and all the weirdness of it are mine, as is the universe it comes from (the same one as Finding Mr. Right and Overnight). What me no owny, you no sue about… and what me owny, you no stealy, unless it's your idea of fun to be murderized by a bunch of homicidal muses. Yeah. I thought so. Just read and enjoy, then. :D

Prologue

Our creative writing professor told us today that at the end of our four years here, we're expected to turn in a fully written and edited work, so I know that if I'm to have anything by then, I'd better start it now.

_I don't have any kind of plan behind this, no rhyme, no reason, no ideas at all—nothing. In fact, most of the stories I start with the end in mind seem to go anywhere, so right now it's my best bet. It's the same as saying I'm filming without a script. From here on out, it's all going to be totally honest._

_They all tell you that when you start out, you have to write what you know._

_This isn't anywhere near my first crack at the industry, but this is the one that's going to have to mean something, so I know that I have to take every chance I can that it'll be a success. So I'm going to write what I know—more, I'm going to write what actually happens._

_A biography? Nothing that proud—more of a journal, really. Enough of what happens in my day-to-day life is crazy enough to base a story on, or at least that's the way it feels to me. What happens in _our _lives. Our crazy, mixed up, intertwined lives._

_Hell, we're all at this college enough that it'll involve all of us just about the same amount, even though this is supposed to be my story._

_We're the weirdest selection of guys who've ever been thrown together, that's for sure. I'm here at the University of St. Ajora to get my bachelor's in Japanese, because I want to write. Seph wants to be a stage actor. Cloud—well, he's just here for now, he has no idea what his major is going to be. Ansem is out of college, but he's been working down in the bio labs for long enough that he feels like he's still going. We break all the rules by being together, being nonconformist in a world that likes everything nice and neat in its places._

_Something good might come of this, or it might just flop. But at least I have my material. It's all right here in front of me as our little dramas play out._

_My name is Squall Leon Lionheart, but that's Leon to my friends. I'm nineteen years old, medium tall with darkish brown hair that falls to my shoulders. Depending on whether I'm having a good hair day or a bad one, it comes off well enough or looks like a mullet. But I never have the time to do anything real with it, so I guess I shouldn't complain. I have gray eyes that Cloud fixates on, and which Ansem—ever poetic—tells me look like a stormy sky. I don't dress to stand out, and the only real thing about me that's noteworthy is the nasty scar on my face. You can blame Seifer for that; he's doing time now, though. Nothing more than the little bastard deserves, for all the trouble he caused—but that's in the past, and I'm digressing already. I don't have a hope at this._

_Aside from Cloud and the others, the only things really important to me are this writing thing working out and Griever, which Ansem gave to me years ago. I'm pretty quiet most of the time, I guess. I don't like being stuck at the forefront of things, and I'm not what you could call outgoing. But Sephiroth has enough of that to make up for the lack of it that the rest of us suffer._

_That's all that's important about me, I suppose. Oh, sure, I'm gay—so are most of the guys I know, in fact—but that should be self-evident, considering the company I keep. No straight guy would ever, _ever _be caught in the company of Cloud Strife, the infamous one-time drag queen of our neighborhood, without lots and lots of straight backup. And I live with him—talk, eat, breathe, and yes, sleep with him. Every day, in fact._

_From the mundane to the insane, our lives are going to revolve around this damn crazy college for the next four years—or more, depending on whether or not Ansem decides to stay in the labs in the adjoining building._

_The would-be writer, the beautiful and ambitious young actor, the brilliant but unlucky scientist, and the student with enough potential that he doesn't know what to do with himself yet… good things come in fours, or so they say, so maybe things will look up for us sooner rather than later._

_Everyday things will make up this story, but I want to try to capture some of the magic that's the four of us, and the very real something we have between us: Not quite love, not quite hate, not quite lust or celibate friendship, but some kind of equilibrium in between._

_Is there anything missing? Oh, yes—a title, every good story and most of the bad ones have one._

_Yes—I know what I'll call this weird and unplanned tale._

_Our story isn't in the college, though it's around it. Nor is it in this little apartment on 9th street. No, it's somewhere in between my head and the typewriter paper, or the ink of my pen if need be. It's in a place that I don't know how to get to, a place that might even be ruined if I did know how to get there._

_I'll call it "The Elsewhere Chronicles"._

:to be continued:


	2. Life in College

The Elsewhere Chronicles

See disclaimer in the prologue

"What are you writing?"

Leon looked up from his paper. "End of the term assignment."

The look on Cloud's face turned from inquisitive to amused, and he turned back to his lime Coke. "Leon, that isn't due for months."

"Unless I start it now, I won't do it at all," Leon reasoned, then typed a few more sentences, scowled at them, and took the sheet out of the typewriter, crumpled it up, and tossed the ball into the wastebasket next to his desk, putting a fresh one in its place.

Knowing that Cloud would be shaking his head, Leon didn't turn to look at him. The young blonde had been after him to swap his old typewriter for a computer for years, and they both knew that Leon wasn't about to. The typewriter had been a gift from Rinoa, who had been his best friend through most of his childhood, and he would always keep it as a memento of her, even if it did make him seem behind the times.

Cloud headed up behind Leon's chair, then leaned forward and slipped his arms around the brunet's shoulders, pressing his cheek into Leon's shaggy hair. It had taken quite some time for them to develop this kind of ease with each other, and more than a little hard work through the awkward days. But they were close enough now that Leon didn't object at all to Cloud's attention seeking until he realized the danger his precious typewriter was in and frowned up at his boyfriend. "You're going to spill that," he pointed out, indicating Cloud's Coke.

Rolling his eyes, Cloud set the Coke down on the bedside table. "Jeez, Leon."

About eight months younger than Leon, Cloud was nearing his nineteenth birthday, and was just starting to grow out of his gangly teenage look, when his untamed hair had been annoying and his feet had seemed too big for the rest of his body. He possessed hazel-green eyes that faded into shades of smoke on gray days and an unruly fluff of bright blonde hair, which stuck out in a million directions but was much, much softer than it looked. Facing the world with an easygoing sense of unconcern, Cloud was accepting of most situations, quiet but not introverted, and a keen observer. And even after several months of life as a college freshman, he still had no idea what the hell his major was going to be.

He'd started out with the idea of majoring in Japanese, like Leon, but then had switched to an English major because he found the foreign language interesting. That hadn't lasted five weeks before Cloud had decided that it was too frustrating and had swapped it to something else. Usually, his major changed with his mood—despite his normal demeanor, Cloud was unbelievably fussy about what field he wanted to put his life into.

Leon had suggested once that he should switch his constant minor in history to a major, but Cloud, mortified, had protested that he wouldn't be able to get any job that way. Very few places went out looking for guys with their bachelor's in history. Too bad—Cloud certainly would enjoy it. He loved history with a passion equal to his total adoration for Leon.

His major was art right now, something that Leon had to hide a chuckle at. Cloud was to Picasso as a PB&J was to stromboli. Still, Cloud could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and as such, the art major was lasting longer than Leon had expected. Who knew? Maybe it would work out this time.

Turning, Leon looked up at his boyfriend. Cloud Strife's soft, vulnerable eyes were bright at the moment, his full, sensitive lips delicately curved into a slight smile—a look that Leon definitely thought Cloud should wear more often. Cloud didn't really smile much, but when he did, it made the inner beauty of the goodness he tried to hide behind an uncaring façade shine out.

Leon made an effort to reply in kind (he wasn't much of a smiler, either), turning his swivel chair around to face the blonde. "All right, the paper can wait. What else do we have on our list this week?"

Cloud shrugged and headed over to the piece of paper taped up beside the calendar. While most people meant that question figuratively, Leon was one of the very few people who actually kept a _real _list of things to do. "Well… Sora's trying to organize another get-together soon. Not a sleepover, just a get-together—he knows that no one has the time to stay the night. One of us has to pick Sephiroth up from the CHC tomorrow, too."

Leon grimaced, but nodded. Sephiroth also roomed with them, which sometimes got to be a pain for the brunet—a drama major, he had been Cloud's boyfriend before he and Leon had gotten together, and the way Sephiroth still acted like he owned the blonde irritated Leon a little. Sephiroth loved attention and could be very demanding, and why exactly he felt like he _had _to room with Leon and Cloud when he was rich enough to get his own condo and maintain it, Leon didn't know. He and Seph didn't always get along, but they usually made an effort on Cloud's behalf. It wasn't out of jealousy that occasionally Cloud and Sephiroth still got involved (they had _threesomes, _for godsakes, so obviously Leon couldn't object _that _much)—Leon was doing the same thing, in a way—but rather out of a personality conflict. Namely, both Leon and Sephiroth thought that the other should get his head out of his ass.

As an actor—and a good one, Leon was forced to admit—Sephiroth didn't just take drama classes at their college, St. Ajora's, but spent a great deal of time down at the Cecil Harvey Center of Entertainment downtown, working on extracurricular plays. Because they only had two cars between the three of them—a rusty red pickup and a brand-new black-and-silver Scion, both of which belonged to Leon—this meant that Sephiroth usually required picking up after rehearsals.

"Anything else?"

"Well…" Cloud ran his finger down the list. "We need to go lube shopping, we're almost out again. Um, you're going out with Ansem tomorrow at seven, in case you've forgotten…"

Leon looked stricken for a moment; he _had _forgotten. Entirely. Dear Lord, he would need to start getting ready _today._

"Don't worry about me though, I'm going to go to dinner with Seph at the same time. Oh, and Larxene has a recital this weekend, and everyone's invited, as usual." Cloud's smile grew. "You'd think that a girl like her would be mortified at the thought of anyone seeing her in tights and a tutu, but no, she's _proud _of being in ballet."

"That's because she never _wears _a tutu, just leotards," Leon reminded Cloud. "And she keeps bragging that ballet gives her a broader range of movement when she wants to kick people, so why shouldn't she be proud?"

Cloud shrugged. "She's weird." He turned back to the list. "Anyway, payday's coming up for both of us, which is always good, because the rent is due the day after that." He pursed his lips, which distracted Leon by how cute he was when he did that, then jabbed his finger at something on the bottom of the list. "Seifer's latest parole hearing is at the end of the month, and they want you back there to testify again."

Leon rolled his eyes, tightening his hands into fists. "Does he still think they're going to let him out after the things he did? What an ass."

Cloud pulled a sympathetic face. "Not much I can do. But the prosecutors will just reiterate the things he did to you and Rinoa for the ten thousandth time, and he'll get thrown back in. You'd think he would have learned by now, they're not going to let him out _ever _if they can help it."

Leon made a face. Both he and Cloud knew that Seifer would just keep trying. He wouldn't be Seifer if he saw the light and stopped.

Beginning to realize what a bad mood the topic was putting Leon in, Cloud grimaced and stepped forward to loosely put his arms around the brunet once more. "Hey, relax," he said gently. "You know what? Neither of us have much work, besides your paper. Why don't we go down to the Red Nocturne and get something? You know, as a stress reliever."

Leon shrugged. "…Sure."

Cloud leaned in to gently kiss his cheek. "Good… I'll go get ready; meet me in the parking lot when you're done up here." With that, he headed off to change out of the torn-up motorcycle club T-shirt he'd had since his sophomore year in high school. The Red Nocturne wasn't a formal café, but Leon worked there, and Cloud didn't like presenting a sloppy appearance towards his boyfriend's boss and coworkers.

Listening to Cloud's heavy boots clomp down the stairs, Leon gave the blank paper in Rinoa's typewriter one last jaundiced glare, then stood up with a sigh. Oh, well. The paper could probably wait until tomorrow.

---

The Red Nocturne was one of a number of small specialty shops that Leon and his extended group of friends and acquaintances worked at—Diamond Dust, the ice cream parlor in which Cloud was employed, Etherlight (the local flower shop), Destati (the record store), and Neoshadow (a popular dance club) were the other prominent ones—and, while it wasn't exactly the busiest place in town, it usually had at least one or two customers around due to its high-quality coffee and welcoming atmosphere.

When Leon walked in, trailing Cloud on his arm, he was able to pick out five patrons and one fellow employee chatting happily around the large booth they occupied. He knew all of them at first sight, which wasn't too rare but still a surprise.

…Or maybe not, considering that the employee was one of Leon's younger friends, a very charismatic high-school-age kid named Sora Go figure, then—Sora was one of the most sociable people Leon knew, and was one of the reasons that Leon himself had so many connections throughout the town. The brunet liked to keep to himself, but Sora's overextended buddy network was always there to prevent him from being too lonely.

Sora was half-sitting, half-leaning against the edge of the wooden edge of the padded booth's seats, chattering amiably with everyone else, his spiky, flyaway brown hair flouncing as he gestured wildly in order to make his point as his deep blue eyes glittered happily. He wore his Red Nocturne apron—simple and black, with the shop's logo stitched in red over the breast pocket—over a semi-formal pair of black slacks and a red polo shirt, but his easy demeanor told Leon that his shift had probably ended a while ago and he'd just gotten too distracted by his company to change into something more casual.

Sora's silver-haired boyfriend, Riku, was sitting in the cushioned booth itself, his aquamarine eyes deceptively mild as he sat with his face propped prettily in the palm of one hand. Every now and then, he broke into Sora's story to correct or tease him, bringing as many laughs from the other patrons as Sora's tale itself. Though the brunet got a little bit redder every time Riku interrupted, Sora just smiled and laughed it off. The two were a well-balanced couple—Sora had most of the energy and gregariousness, and Riku had the razor-sharp wit and common sense. They'd been together for so long that Leon had trouble remembering the time before the existence of "Riku and Sora" as a unit.

Next to Riku was Kairi, the red-haired girl who was the only obstacle to Sora being declared "everyone's best friend". Just as charming and sociable, she was even cuter than the brown-haired boy to whom she had been joined at the hip mere days after her family had moved into the neighborhood, when both of them were toddlers. Sora knew everybody there was to know and got along with them just great; Kairi knew everybody in town and for the most part, they loved her. Unless he was on a date, wherever Sora went, Kairi was usually tagging along.

Completing their row, Namine the quiet blonde artist sat beside Kairi, hunched over what looked like a fresh sketchbook. She had stacks of the things, usually going through at least one a month, and filled them with bits and pieces of her life and the lives of her loved ones. Leon had heard that she and Kairi had become friends in middle school, and nowadays it was _very _rare for Namine to be seen out in public without her much more talkative friend alongside her. People joked that Namine was like Kairi's second shadow, a figure in ghostly whites who trailed her almost everywhere. And it was definitely true that if Namine ever dyed her hair red, she and Kairi would be physically indistinguishable. Still, the two of them were not related, and that made most of the people who knew them smile into their hands.

Sitting opposite Riku and the girls, their backs to Leon and Cloud (though both would recognize them _anywhere) _were two boys dressed in black, one with long, spiky dyed-red hair, the other a blonde with a short, stiff hairstyle full of stubborn cowlicks. Axel and Roxas, of course.

Both of them were members of Organization XIII, the semi-notorious gang that was a more-or-less benign weight on the city streets. All thirteen of them had banded together out of the wreckage of their troubled lives, and instead of causing chaos in the town, they actually seemed to be working more to hold it together. One of their leaders, Xemnas, was the owner of the Neoshadow dance club, actually, and their thirteen members were spread across the various non-commercial shops that the town loved so dearly. Roxas was Sora's cousin; Axel was an unruly stray who'd gotten into everyone's hearts and who had sewn the two halves of the Organization together when they'd first met. He annoyed the crap out of most people who knew him, but they put up with him all the same. The two of them had hooked up a few months back, and now, you never saw one without the other.

As Leon headed down the aisle, he noted with amusement that Roxas was smiling at Sora's story, but Axel was laughing at Sora, period. Like most of the Organization members, Axel seemed to think he was a badass. Usually he was more of a _dumbass, _though he had some smartassed comment on his situation more often than not… but either way, you could always count on Axel to be an ass.

Sora, taking notice of the two men heading towards him, flashed both Leon and Cloud a bright smile. "Hey! What are you guys doing here? I thought you didn't have a shift today, Leon."

Leon shrugged, giving Sora and his posse a small smile as they said hello. "We wanted a break from college life."

"Ah." Axel grinned, his beryl-colored eyes flashing with the mischief that always made Leon want to start edging away. "Squeon's getting sick of the hassle, mmm? And everyone told me I must be insane to want to start college a year late."

Leon gritted his teeth and wished that Axel would stop calling him that ridiculous nickname, while Cloud smiled into his sleeve.

_Just ignore him. You know he's always like this._

"So how is life on the responsible side?" Axel teased. "Going crazy from the workload yet?"

Leon shrugged. "…Not really."

"Decided on a major yet?" Kairi asked Cloud, grinning.

The blonde looked evasively to the side. "I'm trying an art major now… it's hard work, but I think I like it. The professor's nice, and there are some familiar faces in my class… Julius Vandole, for one, and there's Vincent, too."

"Wait a minute. Vincent?" Kairi repeated, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "Vincent _Valentine? _The one you had a mad crush on all through middle school?"

"…Yes, _that_ Vincent."

Leon gave his boyfriend a sidelong look of mild curiosity. Cloud looked embarrassed, to put it mildly; he was staring at the far corner of the ceiling, blushing up to his ears.

Kairi giggled; Roxas leaned over and changed the topic in order to rescue Cloud.

"So, how's Sephiroth doing? We haven't seen him for a while."

Back on safe ground, Cloud swiped a hand through his hair and slipped his arm back through Leon's, as if to reassure him that _"that _Vincent" wasn't going to come between them. "He's been spending most of his free time down at the CHC. He got the lead role in their latest play, I forget what it's called—but he said that Olan Durai is the stage manager and Mustadio Bunanza is on the tech crew. He seems happy with how they're doing so far."

"Any news about how his mom is? Maybe she's getting better?" Roxas asked, a little hopefully.

Cloud's face fell. "No… at least, I don't think so. Seph doesn't talk about his home life much."

Which was true, Leon knew, but still, even _he _heard the silver-haired man's latest angry outburst at the doctors who were still bothering his younger brother to have their mother institutionalized. As far as he remembered, Jenova had been a perfectly normal (if unusually rich) mother to Sephiroth and his brother Kadaj until she'd volunteered for a drug test run by the ShinRa Corporation, which had just bought out a pharmaceutical branch in the local chain of supermarkets at the time. Whatever it had been, it had caused her permanent brain damage, and now she required near-constant supervision by their family's servants or Kadaj himself. Sephiroth had no love of family closeness, but as much as his mother and brother annoyed him, he _hated _ShinRa for what it had done to them.

"Oh…" Making a face, Roxas turned to Leon. "How's Ansem?"

Leon scowled. "He's doing well, or seems to be. …He's still dealing with having all his work for the past few years stolen, though."

"Sounds like you two _need _a coffee break," Sora told them sympathetically. "Well, we're going to close soon, but Larxene's still in back somewhere. She's still working, so if you bother her enough, I'm sure she'll help you."

Nodding to Sora, Leon led Cloud towards the café counter.

"I hate having to give them bad news," Cloud said softly.

"It's not your fault… they know better than to shoot the messenger." Leon shrugged. "At least things haven't gotten worse."

"You're right." Still, Cloud rested his cheek against Leon's as they headed back to find Larxene, and they continued the rest of their way in silence.

It wasn't necessarily bad that their lives were hectic, Leon reflected. At least this way, they were more likely to improve than to get worse.

:TBC:


	3. Starcrossed

The Elsewhere Chronicles

See disclaimer in the prologue

Some people went through their lives with God's own luck, blessed by wonderful happening after wonderful happening, either grateful to their karma or taking it all in stride. They won lotteries, they got promotions and scholarships, they were recognized for their hard work and they attracted beautiful men and women in droves.

Ansem was just about the opposite of that.

Kindhearted, patient, and brilliant as he was, he had to be the unluckiest person Leon had ever known. Mishap after mishap continued to plague Ansem through his career and personal life—how he managed to stand it, Leon didn't think he'd ever know.

Twenty-eight years old and aristocratically handsome, Ansem had ethnic tan skin and pure white hair, which he'd always grown straight down to his waist in a gleaming, immaculate silvery curtain. His eyes were dark gold, and always met other people's with measured assertion. He'd had soft, layered bangs that he combed back fiercely while he was working and left hanging into his face when he wasn't. Confident without seeming superior, Ansem always seemed dressed to kill, whether wearing a lab coat, a tuxedo, or his favorite black cashmere sweater and a pair of jeans. As attractive as he was sweet-natured, Ansem had just the kind of build Leon admired in men—a tight muscular structure without bulk. Having seen for himself, Leon knew that he had a pretty nice six-pack to go along with the dramatic sweep of his brow, his strong and very slightly beaked nose, and his dark, full, sensitive lips, which looked cutest in a pout that Ansem rarely wore, but Xemnas—his cousin, the leader of the Organization—often displayed.

Like Sephiroth, Ansem DiZ had always appeared to be an unachievable dream of perfect manhood. At least, he had until the accident…

About four months ago, there had been an explosion and an ensuing chemical fire in the labs where Ansem worked. Caught inside and unable to escape until the fire squad had arrived, Ansem had sustained horrific burns all over his body, as well as several shrapnel wounds. He'd been recovering in the hospital for several weeks, and while skin grafts had repaired the worst of the damage, he had—and would probably have for years yet—scars like dark winestains across his face, chest, back, and hands. In addition, the doctors who'd taken care of him had shaved off what remained of his beautiful white hair—it was starting to grow back, but it was barely longer than the expected norm for a man at the moment.

Leon still thought Ansem was beautiful, even though the other man wouldn't believe him when he said so. Confident as he appeared, Ansem was sensitive as _hell _and got depressed easily. Leon would've liked to confront whoever had managed to give Ansem such low self-esteem, but according to the gentle scientist, it had been more of a combination of circumstances instead of any one person. Leon didn't exactly believe him—it would be just like Ansem to protect even someone who had hurt him so badly.

Besides, the second blow had been hard enough for Ansem to deal with that Leon couldn't spend too much time on what had happened in the distant past.

Shortly after Ansem had gotten out of the hospital and was starting to regain some semblance of normalcy, he'd had to deal with yet _another _shattering event: While he'd been incapacitated, the closest of his research assistants, Xehanort, had made off with all records of his findings, reaching Ansem's expected conclusion and presenting it to their patrons as his work instead of his mentor's. It had been devastating—months of Ansem's hardest work gone, and the credit for it given to someone else entirely.

Ansem's friends and supporters had marched off to his patron, who had already accepted Xehanort's stolen presentation, and protested about how unfair it was. They'd pretty much been told that life was unfair, and there was nothing that the high-and-mighty corporations giving the scientists patronage were willing to do to make up for Ansem's loss.

Leon and the others had been mad as hell. Even Xemnas, who usually didn't get along with Ansem at all, had been out for blood, setting the Organization to trying to track down Xehanort—who, quite wisely, had apparently gathered up his monetary rewards and skipped town.

Leon himself had only met the guy once or twice—supposedly, he was a cousin of Ansem and Xemnas, if a few times removed, and the family resemblance showed. Like Xemnas, he had darker skin than Ansem, and his hair was more creamy off-white than silver as theirs was, but close enough. However, he'd had a sneaky look to him that Leon hadn't liked, even then. It was all in that smirk—the nasty one he wore when he didn't think Ansem was looking. Sure, Leon knew that Ansem tended to be a bit too prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt, but sometimes he thought that the older man had to have been _blind _to trust someone like Xehanort. Maybe he'd just thought that even someone so covetous would abide by the old saying that blood is thicker than water.

Well, whatever the case, Ansem knew his mistake now, and he was paying for it.

Leon shoved his hands into his pockets as he headed towards the old playground, one of the few that hadn't been remade with plastic parts over the past couple of years. Ansem liked to meet him here; both men enjoyed the solitary atmosphere of the place at this time of evening, when the children who had played here during the day were all at home, either eating dinner or getting ready for bed. It was a little lonely, a little isolated, a little secluded, and on nights like these when you could feel the chill in the air and see your breath, you could almost sense the nostalgic magic of the place.

Ansem was sitting on one of the swings, drifting slightly back and forth as he wrote something into the notebook he usually had with him. Whatever he was writing, he was giving it his full concentration and didn't seem to hear the crunch of Leon's steps on the woodchips that surrounded the wooden play equipment. He was dressed in dark clothes again today, with a black trenchcoat on over his semi-formal dining outfit. The cold made his skin seem paler than it usually did, and his short white hair gleamed in the low light like frost.

"Hey," Leon said softly, and Ansem looked up at last, giving the brunet a wan smile.

"…You came."

Leon walked around to stand behind Ansem, putting his gloved hands on the other man's shoulders, looking down into the soft golden eyes that tilted back to regard him. "Of course I came. Whatever you may think… the rest of us aren't going to desert you like _he _did. We… I wouldn't do that to you, you know that."

Ansem dropped his gaze, staring down the empty street in silence. "…That's not what I meant…" he started, but Leon could hear the lie in his voice and both of them knew it was true.

Leon sighed and rubbed Ansem's shoulders supportively. "You're going to brood yourself to death, keeping your mind on this for so long. It's already been months, and yet you still won't go back to work. It shouldn't hurt you now, but you won't let me love you… and I haven't seen you smile like you mean it for a long time. Cloud and I are worried about you."

Ansem sighed, and Leon watched his breath haze around his face in the chill of the air. "Sympathetic as always, and practical, too…" Leaning back slightly, he gently touched his scarred left hand to Leon's cheek. "I've always thought that science was all I would need in life to understand things, but it's difficult to truly comprehend the complexities of the heart. Now, that's a science I could spend my life at and never discover a single thing."

Ansem let the hand fall and scraped the heels of his boots against the ground, kicked bare of woodchips beneath the swing. Drawing his knees closer to his body, he hunched over and propped his face in his hands. "If only there was some equation to solve it all. A formula to soothe the aching heart… mathematical laws to passion and despair… but if there are, no man can yet decipher them." A long silence, in which Leon gave Ansem a look to which the older man paid absolutely no attention, caught up in his musings. "There are drugs, of course, to correct the chemical imbalances of the brain. But not even those are foolproof, and they affect the mind, not the emotions."

Leon leaned forward and put his arms around Ansem, drawing him close. "Okay, that's it. Forget the fancy dinner idea—you're in no state to go out right now. We're going to the Red Nocturne, and you're going to see Larxene."

Ansem edged around to look at Leon. "It's closed."

"I have a key, and Larxene usually stays for a while so she won't run into Xemnas and Marluxia on their way home from college. You know how sick she is of listening to them fighting. No excuses—you need someone with experience in these things, and no matter how annoyed Larxene acts, you know she'll listen."

"…All right, if you insist…"

Leon stood back, letting Ansem get off the swing and fold his notebook closed. As the two of them headed down the walk to Leon's pickup, the brunet frowned and turned to his companion. "…What were you writing in there, anyway?"

Ansem smiled faintly and shook his head. "…Nothing of any importance."

---

Despite his confident words to Ansem, Leon couldn't help feeling slightly guilty as he unlocked the Red Nocturne's front door, slipping inside for all the world like some thief. Larxene stayed here after hours because it was her personal alone time—the lights in the back were on although everything else was shut down, and instead of the relaxing jazz music the café usually had in the background, some Avril Lavigne song was playing softly over the speakers; it was the one about the lonely girl trusting herself to a kind stranger, which Leon could recognize by ear but not by name. Yeah, she would be pissed, all right—Larxene enjoyed her solitude and did not at _all _like being interrupted in it.

Out of all the people Leon knew, only two of them could always be relied upon for sympathy—Cloud's old childhood friend Aerith and Larxene. The difference between seeking one's counsel instead of the other's was that if told of someone else's suffering, Aerith felt that she had to _do _something about it, while Larxene was content to just listen.

Although, that probably had something to do with their differing backgrounds. While Aerith was your average kindhearted middle-class Good Samaritan, Larxene had been born a few towns over, and had run away from home at the tender age of fourteen, making it here and staying after getting to know Axel, Marluxia, and their little group of outcasts. Five years later, she was still here—twelfth member of the Organization, manager of the Red Nocturne, and like Axel, taking the year off from college… though she was waiting to hear back from the prestigious one she'd applied to. It was some psychiatric thing… either that or psychological… Leon didn't really know the difference. But once Larxene had her degree, she would be damn good at helping people with their troubles professionally. Everyone knew how skilled she was at it now.

Leon kept that in mind as he went behind the counter and knocked on the wall before poking his head back into the cleared space behind all the kitchen equipment, where Larxene was just looking up from whatever book she was reading now to give him the evil eye.

"Can this _wait, _dammit?" she demanded, waving her paperback at him as she glared. _"Some _of us happen to be at a delicate part in the book we have been _trying _to get through for the past week."

Leon winced as Larxene hit the guilty spot she'd aimed for. Both of them liked to read, and Leon knew how much Larx was enjoying the latest Nora Roberts romance she'd picked up. Still, it wasn't like he could back down now.

Ansem saved Leon from having to explain, coming up to stand next to him, giving the blonde and the brunet a nonplussed look.

Larxene sighed, dogeared her page, and set the book down. "Come on, have a seat," she said in a resigned tone, gesturing to one of the other folding chairs around the small circular table. "I need to inform Leon of what we can and cannot make for now."

As Ansem sat, Leon followed Larxene into the kitchen. Once they were out of Ansem's range of vision, she nailed him with a glare that would curdle fresh milk. "You owe me _big _for this," she hissed.

"I'll take over your Friday shift," Leon whispered. He'd expected to have to bargain with Larxene for some time with Ansem, but he'd have to make the sacrifice. Ansem needed all the therapeutic time she could spare for him.

"Friday and Saturday," Larxene seethed. Leon could practically see her eyes glowing, considering the pure madness of her stare. "No less. I'm being _generous."_

Leon winced. That would cut into his personal time with Cloud… but still, he'd decided that Ansem really did need some help…

Taking that as agreement, Larxene turned to the refrigerator and opened it, shooting a sidelong glare at her employee, stabbing an angry finger at him. "Your ass is mine, Lionheart. He better really need a bitching session right now, because otherwise I'm going to barbecue you."

Leon sighed and felt some little corner of his consciousness shrivel under her fury at the prospect of _two _days of covering for Larxene here in the café. She'd do her best to make it hell for him, of course. It was all in how you flipped the coin—depending on her mood, Larxene was either the most sympathetic soul you'd ever known or the world's craziest sadistic bitch.

"Anyway, you are going to make whatever food we can spare while I get him started." Larxene waved a hand at the contents of the refrigerator. "We have lots of pie. Apple pie, cherry pie, blackberry pie, lemon pie; you name it, it's here. We also have coffee cake. Lots and lots of coffee cake. There's some kind of flan in the freezer, but I wouldn't trust it, it's been sitting there for a couple of weeks. We're out of ice cream, sadly. And no, you are not making anyone coffee. We need our coffee for tomorrow. Get some damn soda, or some beer. Unless you want milk, and I'm not even sure if that's still good."

Leon shrugged. He knew he'd be able to pull something together from this that he, Ansem, and Larxene would like.

"Oh, and the cost of whatever you make gets taken out of your next paycheck."

It wasn't any less than he'd expected, but still, Leon headslumped so violently that it almost turned into a face fault. "You're evil."

"And like it or not, you're an employee, and I have access to your money—plus I know where you live. Now stop acting like a lurker and get some food made." Shaking her head at him, Larxene turned on her heel and flounced back over to the small table where Ansem waited. Leon stared for a while as her jean-covered butt sashayed off, then shook his head and turned back to the fridge with a sigh.

His irritation was reduced marginally as he heard Larxene strike up a conversation with Ansem, and knew that at least for today, he'd managed to fulfill exactly what the increasingly depressed companion of his heart needed.

"Ever tried effigies?" Larxene drawled, and Leon could tell from the tone of her voice that she was smiling in that slow, crooked way that was so likable. "They work like a charm, and it's fun to pretend to torture people you really hate."

Leon heard the low beginnings of Ansem's laughter—elusive as smoke, and just as dark and alluring—echo through the halls, and managed a smile as he slipped a platter of coffee cake into the microwave.

He'd done right in coming here after all.

:TBC:


	4. Artist's Block

The Elsewhere Chronicles

See disclaimer in the prologue

Cloud scowled at his paper and the ugly smudges all over it that the dirty gray eraser had rubbed across it. He'd have to get another one, curse it, and he'd already been through three today.

He was fine enough when he was given some kind of direction, but this? This was just plain _too much, _and he was going to go absolutely insane if he had to keep at it.

He looked back up at the woven basket of wax fruit, fixing it with the evilest glare he could manage, all but baring his teeth as his blue-green eyes flashed, pale with annoyance. He was supposed to be drawing it as a still life, and he'd been fine with that until his art professor had decided to change things around on him.

"I want to see style," he'd announced, clapping her hands sharply to get his class' attention. "Specifically, _your _style. There'll be plenty of classes this year where you'll play around with paint, or draw structurally, or fiddle with abstraction. This time, I want to see what you want to do and only what you want to do. How do you usually draw or paint? Do you use colored pencils or a grayscale? Whatever it is, I want to see it—this is _art class, _darlings, and anything goes in art class unless you're turning in a blank sheet of paper that you call a polar bear blinking in a blizzard." Some people had laughed at this; not Cloud. He'd still been staring at the professor in dismay at the earlier announcement. "Knock yourselves out, and if you want any pointers, go ahead and ask. You've got two weeks to finish, and I want to see mini-masterpieces."

One week had already ticked by, then half of another, and still Cloud had no idea where to begin.

Frazzled, he shoved the ruined paper away and looked around the room.

Zexion, huddled in the corner and screened by his usual protective layer of black, was slapping paint on canvas with a moody intensity that would've scared Cloud if that kind of thing bothered him. Zex had paint in his hair and on his face, as well as spattered over his shirt and jeans, and Cloud wondered idly if the chemicals in it hurt when they rested on the raw red scars that crisscrossed the young man's arms. Depression hung over silver-haired, dark-eyed Zexion like the blackest thunderheads—the same depression that had birthed the painful-looking wounds he'd scattered over his limbs—but the anger that usually threaded those clouds with lightning was all going into the monochrome painting he was slicing into existence.

Julius Vandole—the unofficial campus drag queen, though he would violently murder anyone who called him that to his face—had finished fussing with the set of oil paints in front of him and was now doing his nails, patiently covering them with layers and layers of shimmering green lacquer, which Cloud thought was definitely better than last week's lurid pink (it had clashed horribly with Julius' bright carrot-colored hair). Watching for a few moments, Cloud decided that the green Julius was using was exactly the shade of bitter envy he himself was experiencing. Julius was done already, and his little oil painting looked magnificent. Cloud had gone over and taken a peek, and just that was enough to make him want to grind his teeth in frustration.

Style came so easily to them.

Though Cloud wasn't really all that into paint, anyway.

The blonde sighed and gritted his teeth. Well, he might as well get this over with.

But just as he shoved back his chair in order to get yet another doomed sheet of paper, he bumped into someone standing behind him and looked up. _Crap. _It was the art professor.

It just _had _to be the art professor.

"Looks like you've got a case of artist's block," Zalbag Beoulve observed with a crooked smile.

Cloud face faulted into the desk before him with a long-suffering sigh, then nodded minutely.

"In my opinion, you're just trying too hard. You need a break, Strife—and I think you can safely use the rest of today's block to take one." Cloud looked up at his teacher, nonplussed. "You're a good kid—I doubt you'll just run off and get into trouble if I let you wander around campus for the rest of this class. Who knows, maybe you'll find some inspiration. Make sure to take your things with you, _especially _your sketchbook. Forget drawing the still life for now—just scribble whatever you'd like in there. Go on, now." The professor clapped him on the shoulder, then moved on in order to monitor one of the other students—actually his younger sister Alma, who was finishing up her own piece, which was done in pastel chalks.

Cloud shrugged to himself and looked around the room one more time.

Well, it wasn't like he'd get anywhere comparing his failure to his classmates' success.

With another self-pitying sigh, he shoved his art supplies back into his shoulder bag and tramped off, closing the door to the art room firmly behind him.

Campus was unusually silent at the moment; today, class schedules were arranged in blocks, and every student but Cloud himself seemed to be either listening to their professors or studying in their dorms. The atmosphere was peaceful, but right now Cloud wasn't sure whether it was more or less annoying than the general buzz of the campus when it was crowded.

Not a single soul around… the solitude was half loneliness, half freedom, and Cloud decided it was something he could grow to like, even if he couldn't enjoy it right away.

But as he reached the grounds in front of the main building—the park in miniature that lay before the sidewalk and the parking lot, and then the ugliness of the city in the distance—he realized that he'd been wrong: There _was _somebody else here.

A girl in white, sitting on the edge of the granite block that formed the base of the iron statue of St. Ajora Glabados in her armor with a sword in one hand and the other open, outstretched; the perfect noble pose for the saint the school had been named for. Cloud frowned for a moment, then recognized her: Namine.

At this time of day, she was probably cutting class—not like it made much difference, though; Namine was a straight-A student, so she could get away with things like that, unlike most of her other friends. She was totally intent on the sketchbook in her lap, drawing away with what looked like some kind of colored pencil, wearing the big, clunky, old-fashioned kind of headphones you just couldn't find anywhere anymore—the really huge kind that covered your ears completely and didn't let any kind of sound out at all—which were plugged into her shiny silver Walkman. She mouthed the words to the song she was listening to as she drew, swinging her sandaled feet back and forth just slightly where she sat.

It was just so picturesque that Cloud couldn't help himself.

Yanking out a sheet of tracing paper for when he was finished, he took out one of his thick carbon pencils and sketched her as quickly as he could without being sloppy, in angular stylized strokes. He kept Namine herself in black and white and the statue behind her a vague dark gray, but when he was done with her figure, he pulled out a pale blue Prismacolor and shaded in the sky.

By the time he was done, Namine had turned to face him and was slipping off her headphones with a smile, just leaving them hanging about her slim throat. Cloud shook his head to himself minutely. No matter what, Namine always, _always _seemed to be able to tell when someone was drawing her.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked mildly, setting her sketchbook aside.

Cloud slipped the tracing paper over his own picture, closed the thick Mead book, and tucked it under his arm. "Couldn't work. My professor sent me out here for today."

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Artist's block, isn't it?"

"Worse—we're drawing a still life in our own style. I don't have a style, so I don't know what I'm doing at all."

Namine just smiled at him. "Everyone has a style, Cloud."

"I don't."

"You only think you don't." She picked up her sketchbook again, considered the drawing she had out, and laboriously turned the page. "You do like to draw, though, which is what's important. You'll figure out what your style is eventually." Flicking her attention back to Cloud and giving him one of her brief smiles, she patted the open space on the marble block beside her. "Why don't you sit down?"

Cloud sighed, but did.

"Since you don't seem to want to go back to class, just stay here for a while," she advised, already turning back to her own artwork. "Draw whatever you want for a change."

---

"This is some really excellent work," Zalbag said, sounding almost impressed as he flipped through Cloud's sketches from the previous day. "Whatever you managed to run across yesterday, I think you've got your groove back."

Cloud shrugged one shoulder, embarrassed, as page after page of Namine, then Leon flew by.

"Ready to give that still-life another go?"

"…I guess."

"If it doesn't work out by the due date," the professor continued, "I'd be happy to accept any one of these in lieu of the original assignment. Art has to be free, after all."

Cloud accepted his sketchbook back, then took his seat and stared steadily at the waxed fruit at the center of the classroom. As he did so, Namine's parting words echoed through his head.

_"Artist's block isn't anything you really have to worry about. I get it all the time. It's a part of the field, and if you want to keep the art major you're working on, you're going to have to learn not to work with it, but around it—to let things lie until your inspiration comes back._

_"There's a lot of heart in the work you do—I know you can do this, if you really want to."_

Cloud sighed, shook his head to clear it, and drew.

When he got the assignment back a few weeks later, he was surprised to see that he'd been granted full marks on it.

(TBC)


End file.
